


Remembering the war ~ Johnlock

by Yogurtjamcheese



Series: Johnlock oneshots [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Nightmares, Other, Sharing a Bed, Sherlock Being Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-10-01 16:51:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20341768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yogurtjamcheese/pseuds/Yogurtjamcheese
Summary: John has a bad dream about the war, and goes to see Sherlock. Cuddling ensues.





	Remembering the war ~ Johnlock

Remembering the War

John’s eyes opened moments after he had closed them, in a place he was very familiar with. He heard gunshots surrounding him, and he dove down a second before one of them would have plunged into his heart. In his laying position, he was able to assess his situation.

He had a gun and his med-kit, that was at least alright. He could keep himself alive with these supplies, just like he normally did. But something felt different now, he didn’t feel the… empty feeling he always felt in his stomach.

None of that mattered now, as he started hearing screams of pain, someone nearby was injured. The voice sounded familiar, it must have been someone on his side. John got onto his hands and knees and began hurriedly crawling in the direction of the injured man.

He had located the injured person, who was screaming and clutching at their leg, where blood was steadily flowing from into what seemed like a small pool at their feet. John had to find a way to get to them without exposing himself, he could see endless bullets raining at soldiers who had made the bad decision of running into enemy fire.

If John ran into the bush, he would only have to leap into the open for less than a second to fling himself behind the same boulder the injured soldier was at. The screaming was getting louder, and John could almost feel the blood pouring out of the wound.

He took the jump, and made it right into the bush. It looked thick enough that he wouldn’t be seen, and it appeared that the enemy hadn’t noticed him enter the bush. For now, he was safe. 

Or, at least, he thought that until he looked up right into the eyes of a stunned enemy soldier, just as surprised as he was. Without hesitation, he held up his gun, pointing at the man. He reached down to grab his gun, but John was faster, disarming him and throwing out his gun.

And John stuck his gun right up next to the other man’s head and pulled the trigger.

Correction, he hesitated before pulling the trigger. The look of utter fear and terror on his face made John think that perhaps he didn’t deserve this. For all John knew, this man had a family. Maybe a wife, even with a baby on the way.

He probably was hoping to get back to that wife and baby soon, maybe fighting wasn’t even his choice. For all John knew, this man was someone important, someone who had a job right before being taken in and forced to fight, someone who had an alcoholic sister and a flatmate named Sherlock… 

Wait, what was that?

It didn’t matter, because the man who had a gun held up to his head lashed out, pulling his arm and twisting it around. John’s mind reacted a second too late, pulling the trigger and watching, almost in slow motion, as the bullet left the gun and began flying towards his own shoulder.

He saw it sink into his own flesh, crimson blood not even appearing yet at the wound. The pain was going to hit him, just like a train. He had a specific protocol for if he got shot, but his brain was screaming as loud as he was, that he was going to die.

Then, he fell, his body crumbling even before he could feel the pain, he knew it was coming, any second now, his head was about to hit the floor…

~<>~*O*~<>~

John was awake now. Partially. He sniffled slightly, his nightmares were rarely that realistic, that terrifying. Back when he had them quite often, they usually just left him in a cold sweat, he didn’t often feel like crying after them.

Now that he shared a flat with Sherlock, the few dreams he still had were usually good ones, but when he had a bad dream, he could always think of the detective below… NOT IN A WEIRD WAY, just, as in, how he always kept a gun in his nightstand, so anything that tried to get in wouldn’t make it past Sherlock’s bedroom.

And this was about the part where John would reassure himself that Sherlock was there, that he would keep him safe. His brain on the other hand, was no longer satisfied with that idea. His half-asleep form forced itself out of bed.

He immediately sunk to the floor and assumed a lying position on his back. ‘Must… get… up…’ John thought to himself, but the floor felt nice, why would he want to get up. Smiling lightly to himself, he imagined waking up on the floor. He would probably have a stiff neck, arms, and he could already feel the horrible feeling in his injured shoulder.

John heard a slight thump downstairs, presumably in Sherlock’s room, followed by a muffled “ow!” His adrenaline jumped thinking Sherlock was in some sort of danger, he jolted awake fully, and sat up.

A loud sigh and the ruffling of blankets shut that fear down, and John relaxed. Lying back down again with a quiet thump, he stared at the ceiling for a moment. His brain decided to send him back into that state of half-waking, and the idea of going to see Sherlock seemed to be a very good one.

Had he been fully awake, this idea would have been one of the worst ones possible to him. But right now, seeing Sherlock would be nice, he could talk to him, and then leave.

That made sense, right?

John grunted with effort as he struggled onto his hands and knees and inched himself across the floor. He simply didn’t seem to have the energy to do any more, just slowly drag himself from bed to door. After a minute or so of just laying down on the door-frame, John forgot about going to see Sherlock.

He just laid there, facedown on the floor as random thoughts of his job at the clinic and his adventures with Sherlock… aha! That was why he was there. John sat up and shook his head in an attempt to shake the sleepiness from his brain (non-successfully).

Taking several deep breaths, he hoisted himself up from the floor by grabbing onto the doorframe and pulling. Within moments, he was standing, and had nearly forgotten about the visit to Sherlock. Nearly was the key word, he knew what he was doing had to do with Sherlock, who was downstairs.

So down the stairs he went, his feet thumping against each step. One would think he was stomping angrily, (Ms. Hudson certainly thought that) but he was just stumbling and putting all his weight on each foot as it hit the ground.

Sherlock didn’t seem to have noticed, even when John had reached the kitchen which was closer to his bedroom. Bumbling around, John got out the supplies to make tea. After setting them on the counter and putting water in the kettle, he abandoned it and walked towards Sherlock’s bedroom.

Seemingly drunk on ignorance and dreams, John smiled at his own feet as he watched them travel down the hallway with him. There was some kind of logic associated with this… at the time… but John didn’t remember any of it.

Knocking on Sherlock’s door, John stared at the wood. It was painted, but he couldn’t see the color in the dark. After a minute or so, he got tired of waiting and opened the door.

Inside, Sherlock was under his blankets reading a book. Reading was a loose term, he was more in his mind palace, going over information he had gathered recently. John came in, and the sight of the man’s black curls framing his face immediately straightened out his loose floppy brain.

This was a really bad idea, what would Sherlock think if he simply came out of his trance and looked up to find John staring at him? John turned around and went to exit, getting to the door and nearly stepping out.

But as his foot fell to the ground, it landed not on the floor, but on a plate. A plate covered in… were those… toes? John didn’t even ask anymore, he never wanted to know the answers to the many questions he had about the various odds and ends around the flat.

Stepping on the plate would have been fine if it hadn’t made the loudest clinking sound John swore he had ever heard. He could hear sudden ruffling blankets, and turned around to see a tensed Sherlock, coming out of his trance. There was no going back now.

He had no explanation for why he was there, so he would change the subject before he was even asked about it. 

“Why is there a plate covered in bloody TOES in the hallway Sherlock?” John asked in an annoyed tone. Sherlock looked just as unhappy as John sounded, although this annoyance was genuine, unlike his.

“Here is a better question, why are you-” Sherlock started, before John cut him off, he didn’t want to have to answer that due to the lack of answer he had.

“I thought we had discussed leaving your terrible experiments in the kitchen rather than on the FLOOR, where people could step on it!” John interrupted, to which Sherlock looked even more annoyed. His icy blue eyes were narrowed, and John swallowed, he knew Sherlock knew he was changing the subject.

“John I swear, just tell me why you are in my room at this hour!” Sherlock blurted out quickly in an attempt to avoid interruption. At that, John sighed, and combed through his mind for an excuse he could give.

But was there even a point in making excuses? Sherlock always saw through them, it was what he did. 

Looking at the floor, John answered his question to the best of his knowledge. 

“I, um, had a bad dream. About the war. But TOES ON THE BLOODY FLOOR?!?!?!” John attempted changing the subject one last time, failing horribly.

Sherlock’’s expression changed immediately from one of anger and annoyance to understanding and something John didn’t understand. He sighed, John could hear him from across the room loud and clear, and patted the bed next to him a couple of times before looking at John expectantly.

John was oblivious to the gesture, looking confused for a moment before Sherlock was annoyed and gesturing to the John and then the space next to him when he finally caught on. His eyes widened and his mouth opened to object that he didn’t mean for that, he just came down to… make tea?

But Sherlock stopped the words before they even came out.

“You obviously came down for something, and you came in here, where there is nothing but a bed and me. I am no use when it comes to these things, so you must just want some company to help you feel safe and secure.” Sherlock told him, and John couldn’t argue with that.

His sense was screaming at him to stop, this was super gay, which he was not, he shouldn’t do this… 

Which was basically why he walked towards the bed, just to prove his own brain wrong.

“I’m still not gay… people would talk…” John mumbled under his breath as he swiftly closed the distance between Sherlock and himself, pulling up the blankets as slow as possible. He sighed loudly before crawling under them, as far away from Sherlock as possible.

Closing his eyes, he attempted to fall asleep as fast as possible to save himself the embarrassment now, even if it would possibly mean more in the morning. But through his eyelids, the gold of the chandelier kept his mind from slowing down again.

Slowly opening his eyes, he flipped himself onto his side so that he was facing Sherlock. Looking the other man in the face, he noticed Sherlock look back to his book quickly, and then flit back to John for a split second.

“Do you think you could turn off the light?” John asked Sherlock. Sherlock put on an obviously fake frown, his eyes shining with a smile.

“First you steal my loneliness, now you want to steal my book?” Sherlock scoffed, exhaling loudly. He kneeled on the bed, and leaned over to unplug his lamp.

‘Jesus, he could have just turned it off’ John thought to himself, but he wasn’t complaining. When Sherlock leaned over the bed to pull on the plug, John could see his ass clearly through his pants.

Wait, what? That wasn’t right. Three-continents Watson WAS NOT GAY. If Sherlock was trying to tempt a straight man… he was succeeding.

John laid on his back and closed his eyes, he had to sleep and he had to do it now, save himself from the embarrassment. He could hear Sherlock’s breathing next to him, and he subconsciously started to sync his own to it.

Minutes passed, John was still wide awake and aware of Sherlock next to him. He was tense, what was he supposed to do? He could sense him there, right next to him, hear him start to snore quietly. 

Soon, he started to slowly drift into the state of his brain not doing words. All he felt was the blankets above him, the bed below him, and the warmth next to him. John slowly began shifting towards the warmth, he wanted to feel it closer.

John inhaled deeply, smelling Sherlock, whose back was pressed against his front. His arms reached around him, pulling him even closer. He tucked his head into the taller man’s neck, rubbing the skin with his nose.

Sherlock’s scent was soothing, John wanted more of it. He pushed one of his legs under the taller man’s waist, wrapping it around Sherlock’s. John smiled, and drifted into dreams.


End file.
